Hey internet friends. Today, we’re talking about some books written long ago, seemingly
able to predict future events, as though Nostradamus himself wrote them, but they were so boring
no one really read them until recently. Before I proceed, should I apologize and make excuses
for myself now or later? I’m envisioning Snopes writers spitting at their computer
screens, and I’m already anticipating some of the comments a few of you are typing out:
Grace, I can’t believe you would perpetuate the right/left paradigm, don’t you know
that politics is just theater? You told us so yourself.
Welp, don’t mind me. I’m just over here in all my diet woke glory, going back to my
roots of literary analysis, because it’s been two years since I uploaded my video on
the Marvelous Adventures of Barron Trump, exploring the possibilities of time travel
and psychological operation potential, and I’ve since been pondering Ingersoll Lockwood’s
other works, namely his short piece entitled The Last President, detailing the trials of
the last president of the United States, the destruction of the republic, and its parallels
to President Trump.
Hold onto your butts, internet friends, because today we’re traveling through past, present,
and future to answer my pressing questions:
what is destiny and can it be manifested?
First, let’s talk about the author of these books. Ingersoll Lockwood was an American
lawyer and writer based in New York. His father was a military man and a close friend of Henry
Clay, a US representative, senator, speaker of the house, and Secretary of State, who
helped found the National Republican Party and Whig Party. Henry Clay’s nickname was
“The Great Compromiser”—the master of the Art of the Deal for his time. Apparently,
Ingersoll Lockwood was a big fan of Clay too, because he wrote a poem for Clay adorning
him with the Lockwood last name and referring to him as a brother. Both Clay and Ingersoll
Lockwood are on record as freemasons, which I only bring up in connection to the occult
elements throughout their lives and works. Ingersoll Lockwood’s friends weren’t the
only ones who were politically connected, as he was appointed consul to the kingdom
of Hanover, the fourth-largest state in the German Confederation, by none other than President
Abraham Lincoln. What did Lockwood get up to in his free time, when he wasn’t practicing
law, or acting as consul, or writing children’s books? Well, he created a club called Union
of the Titans, with exclusive membership of men taller than 6’2”. According to his
obituary printed in the New York Times in October of 1918, he died at the age of seventy-seven
in Saratoga Springs, New York.
Ingersoll Lockwood's children’s books about a character commonly called Little Baron
Trump, his dog bulgar, and their marvelous underground adventures detail the adventures
of a wealthy boy living in "Castle Trump", and his journey consists of traveling to Russia,
“depicting a ‘World within a World’ which the young baron explores with his dog
Bulgar using a guidebook provided by the ‘master of all masters’ named Don.” Not even Baron’s
parents know where Baron was born, but he’s constantly bringing up how big his brain is,
and manages to come up with a personalized insult for most folks he meets, and his adventures
take him underground, underneath the Ural Mountains in Russia, much in the style of
Lewis Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland. All the evidence needed to make a Russian collusion
case can be found within the text of a book written over a hundred years ago. Jokes, I
got jokes.
While his children’s books were written in the early 1890s, Ingersoll Lockwood’s
later works include the Laconics of a Cult, a critique of organized religion and what
he describes as “shadowy gods on their shadowy thrones”. At the end of this critique, Lockwood
attempts to create a new cult, called the Cult of the Immortal Human. Pictured at the
beginning of the book are two photographs of Lockwood, at age 30 and at age 60. Why
are there two photographs? Well, I guess the author wants you to notice how little he’s
aged in 30 years. November 3, 1896 was the twenty-eighth US
presidential election, in which former Governor William McKinley defeated Democrat William
Jennings Bryan. Keep in mind, this was post-civil war and pre-world war America. McKinley won
promoting the dollar being backed by the gold standard and encouraging industrial growth,
while William Jennings Bryan lost as the pro-silver economic reformer.
Lockwood’s piece of political fiction about this election is dubbed a novel, but “The
Last President” reads more like a play, one of ten acts or chapters, that follows
a different timeline of the 1896 election, one in which a character named Bryan wins
the presidency. The first scene is set in New York, where mobs are breaking out in New
York City, and states that: “The Fifth Avenue Hotel will be the first to feel the full fury
of the mob.” Within the first act, a clear division is defined, one between those who
support the new president, and those who do not. Sound familiar? It’s curious because
666 Fifth Avenue was built for the Vanderbilt family and was owned by President Trump’s
son-in-law, Jared Kushner, and Trump Tower is located on Fifth Avenue, but the parallels
don’t end there.
It takes a few chapters to establish that Bryan is beloved by the common people, considered
a savior and a god to many—Bryan has succeeded in connecting with the everyman. In Chapter
three, it says that the people made him president “in the very face of the prodigious opposition
of the rich men, whose coffers had been thrown wide open all to no purpose, and in spite
too of the satanic and truly devilish power of that hell upon earth known as Wall Street”.
So, it doesn’t take long to communicate to the reader that the valley between the
rich and the poor was ever-widening during this time, and the blame for the economic
depression was placed upon Wall Street, which is given satanic characteristics. Probably
because usury is considered a sin, and they say the root of all evil is the love of money.
Eventually, prophecies start getting flung about between chapters, there’s talk of
a Dawnless Day, and eventually, Bryan selects members of his Cabinet. One of the members
is a character named Pence. An executive order is passed abandoning the gold standard, Wall
Street is shocked, but the brunt of it is felt by the common folk who are living in
the streets of Washington without food, waiting for rations and to be placed into camps. In
a relatively short period of time, the dollar declines, and the government is powerless
to stop it, taxes rise, and chaos capitalizes on this void, separatist movements pop up,
with socialism and anarchy finding “willing ears”. Riots follow. Once again, the South
unites against the north, as the South, which represents the common people, is upset about
the taxes being placed upon them, when they view the North as the much wealthier territory.
Prophecy details more revolution, more tensions between the north and the south. The play
ends with a weakened and demoralized president, being encouraged to resign by the speaker
of the house, but the president makes one last good show for the common folk, captivating
everyone under his spell for one last time. Then, suddenly, the capitol is struck by dynamite,
and with it, the republic falls.
The whole thing ends really creepily, with the author describing a single human eye with
a devilish joy admiring the rubble of the fallen republic. Like a scene straight out
of the fires of Mordor or the pages of a Lovecraftian horror, neither of which had yet been written.
—— Ingersoll Lockwood’s books resurfaced into
public consciousness in 2017, when the internet popularized the novels by drawing parallels
between them and the current political situation in the United States: from wealthy little
baron Trump living in castle Trump, being guided by the master of all masters, Don,
through various adventures in an underground Russian fantasyland, to the Last president
in Lockwood’s novel presenting similarities to President Trump as a political outsider
and champion of the common people, the familiar name Pence popping up within the president’s
own cabinet, as well as the divisive nature of the election and the location of the novel’s
mob activity and proximity to Trump properties—all of these are sprinkled across Lockwood’s
various works, and if we step back and look at his works as a collection, there are some
strange synchronicities for sure, but in 2017, the discourse surrounding these books generally
revolved around the weird similarities but not the implications. Certainly mainstream
media helped shape the discussion by publishing an endless array of articles aiming to debunk
the connection between Lockwood and Trump—writing it off as nothing more than tinfoil-hattery.
These articles addressed the question of whether or not Donald Trump had or has access to a
time machine, routinely bringing up Trump’s uncle and his examination of inventor Nikola
Tesla’s laboratory. In the aftermath of Tesla’s death, the FBI reportedly confiscated
his papers, and they were reviewed by none other than John Trump, a physicist who worked
for the US government’s Office of Scientific Research and Development. Was Donald Trump
privy to the contents of Tesla’s office?
Back in 2017, Snopes managed to take enough time away from soliciting prostitutes to write
their take on the Trump-Lockwood connection. They said, “Although these books contain
some seemingly bizarre coincidences, they are no evidence that Donald Trump has a time
machine.” Thank you for that, Snopes. Two years after Lockwood reached peak popularity,
a writer who specializes in researching and debunking conspiracy theories and fringe beliefs
by the name of Mike Rothschild put together a frustrated piece expressing great displeasure
about how this stupid Lockwood conspiracy theory wouldn’t go away because, I quote:
“conspiracy theorists tend to never move on, they only add more details.”
I’m sure Mr. Rothschild knows this since he’s a self-proclaimed expert on debunking
these disgusting predatory conspiracy theories that these mouth-breathing, low IQ, useless
eaters have the nerve to discuss freely online, but just a reminder that a conspiracy is,
by definition an evil, unlawful, treacherous, or surreptitious plan formulated in secret
by two or more persons. Basically, a conspiracy is unlawful plotting between two or more folks.
And a conspiracy theory is just filling in the blanks of who, what, where and why behind
this unlawful plotting. Furthermore, I didn’t realize that time travel or time machine ownership
were unlawful acts—in order for them to be declared unlawful, there would have to
be some acknowledgement or declaration that time travel existed beyond the pages of your
favorite science fiction novel. But hey, we all know that the best way to make people
forget about something and keep them from discussing ideas is to repeatedly publish
and perpetuate those ideas through various mainstream media outlets, framing the appropriate
conversation along the way.
Makes ya wonder.
——
When I made my original video about the Marvelous Adventures of Baron Trump, I knew nothing
of memetics, and even less of trickery, or the sleight of hand.
While this whole story seemed to have peaked in 2017, there’s never been a time more
relevant to bring it up than right now, when the House of Representatives has impeached
President Trump. As of this week, his Senate trial is currently underway, and for a while
there, every time I turned on talk radio, radio hosts perpetuated the theory that this
whole impeachment trial would actually lead to the possibility of Trump running for a
third term. A strange loophole of sorts, one might say. This idea originated online by
former republican governor and father to former White House Press secretary, but once again
the mainstream media moved quickly to debunk this claim, stating that the “22nd Amendment
to the Constitution expressly prohibits a person from being elected to the office of
president more than twice. Since Trump was already elected once, he is only eligible
for one more term.” Regardless, a third term for any American president seems like
a recipe to dissolve the federal republic and constitutional representative democracy
we supposedly have here in the United States.
I realize our mileage might vary in connecting the past to the present, to use something
as seemingly innocuous as an American lawyer’s works of historical fiction and children’s
fantasy to analyze the reality in which we live. Maybe John Trump really did build a
time machine off of Tesla’s notes. Maybe Lockwood’s family had some sort of looking
glass family heirloom, and he wrote a collection of particularly hard to read works in an attempt
to shift humanity from the path of destruction. Or maybe, just maybe, what’s playing out
before us is all a big theater performance, a most brilliant one, more of a comedy than
tragedy, to convince the masses that they have some semblance of control over the thing
we call government, as we continue to vote for people we’ll never meet in order for
those elected individuals to turn around, line their pockets with lobby dollars, and
tell us how to run our lives.
For me, it’s difficult to say whether the last president in Lockwood’s book was a
character genuinely concerned for the well-being of the everyman and champion of the common
people, or if he was in on the plot to destroy the republic, but it doesn’t really matter
either way, does it? The outcome of his presidency was pre-determined—a script written, the
characters cast, the play executed, and destiny fulfilled.
What do you think, internet friends? Are the parallels between Lockwood’s collection
of works and the current political state of the US nothing more than coincidence? Is this
a case of happenstance, merely an oddity, rather than the script revealing itself?
And if Lockwood’s Last President was indeed a warning, can destiny be stopped?
Thank you so much for watching. You know I always look forward to reading your comments.
Thank you for subscribing and supporting my work on Patreon. Bye!